AN: Hi, Guys! New Story! YAY! I know it's been a while since I uploaded anything...been busy as usual. Argh! Anyway, here's a little thingy I wrote a while ago, that's been sitting half-done on my PC. I'm gonna finish it I swear...and if I don't may I be spank-uh, slapped-by none other than the famous John Sheppard! Heh heh...

Chapter One

"Atlantis, this is Jumper Two. The drive pods have been damaged, and I'm making an emergency landing on the nearest planet."

Lt. Col. John Sheppard looked up at the HUD, intending to find the planet's designation, but the Jumper was shaking too much for him to make any sense of what was on the screen. Desperately, he reached out with his mind for control, but it was no use; the Jumper was on a collision course with the green-and-brown – but mostly brown – planet suspended beneath him, and there was little he could do to stop it.

Hurtling through the planet's atmosphere, Sheppard could feel the interior of the Jumper heating up, the air becoming hot and sticky.

"Come on," he urged as he pulled up on the yoke, his jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. Ever so slightly, the Jumper began to level out, her nose pointing more toward the horizon than the ground. As he stared out at the blazing sunset, flashes of his friends' faces crossed his mind, starting with Aiden Ford, who he'd lost years ago, and ending with Dr. Rodney McKay. The genius physicist was who John considered his best friend – one almost close enough to call his brother. Though McKay had a huge ego, it was clear to those who knew him well that he also possessed a large heart, often putting aside his own well-being in order to help someone else. He would never admit it, of course – his pride was also just as large – but his friends knew it was true.

I could use that ego right about now, Sheppard thought as he watched the planet's surface rushing ever closer to him. Or even Teyla's hand on my shoulder. Glancing over at the passenger's seat, he felt a sudden hollowness when he saw she wasn't there. It was strange to see the seat empty; as recently as a few days ago, she had resumed her role as his "navigator", sitting beside him and chatting about anything. He often used the excuse of needing her unique expertise in negotiating with a planet's merchants, when all he really wanted was to hear her voice, or feel her touch when he started to doze off and she nudged him awake.

The Jumper's bottom began to skim the trees on the planet, their branches scraping across the metal hull with a screeching sound. Sheppard winced and then shifted all his weight back into the chair, pulling the yoke along with him. Though his hands and arms shook against the resistance and sweat stood out on his forehead, he managed to keep the ship from spinning and crashing nose-first into the dirt. He steered her over a large body of water, taking note of certain landmarks along the way, and as he reached the further shore, he swerved around a tall, jagged rock, one that reminded him of the central tower of Atlantis.

Home, he thought then, homesickness creating yet another void in his heart. Atlantis seemed too far away at the moment, but he pushed the thought away, forcing himself to focus on the situation at hand.

Then, to make things even worse, the HUD suddenly blinked off, followed by every light inside the Jumper. He no longer heard the hum of the engines, the beep of the proximity sensor, nor could he feel the mental connection he shared with every piece of Ancient technology; it was as if the entire ship had just died, right there in the air.

"Oh, crap," Sheppard muttered, just before he was thrown forward into the control panel. His head slammed against the panel, and his vision swam, then turned completely black.

The smell of smoke woke Sheppard at last, but he soon found that he could only open one eye. Puzzled, he tried to reach up to touch it, but his wrist burned with such severe pain that he cried out and cradled the hand to his chest. It wasn't broken, he guessed, but probably pretty badly sprained. Deciding he'd rather not experience that again, he gingerly tried his other hand, and found that it was a little sore, but useable. He poked at his eye, and was relieved to know it was still there. It had been stuck shut by dried blood, blood that had trickled down his face from the gash on his forehead.

Though every muscle cried out, he forced himself to sit up, only to realize that he had been lying on the Jumper's front windshield, which meant that the ship had indeed taken a nose-dive, and the rear section was now sticking straight up in the air. The tempered glass of the windshield had broken on impact, and a medium-sized shard had pierced Sheppard's left leg, right through the side of his calf. Blood flowed sluggishly down his leg, and every move he made caused the wound to throb.

Though his vision was wobbly, Sheppard reached down with his good hand and gently tugged on the fragment of glass. He managed to pull it halfway out before he began to see stars, and was forced to stop before he passed out again. After a short rest, he tried again. Ignoring the way his leg began to shake, he finally pulled the glass free, growling as the wound throbbed violently. Fresh blood coursed down his leg to puddle on the ground beneath him, and he looked around for something to use as a bandage. Seeing nothing, he huffed and then looked down at his black t-shirt. It was already partly torn, no doubt from all the broken glass he'd landed on.

Better than nothing, he thought as he began to rip it open. It took him a little while to free the arm with the sprained wrist, but soon he had a ragged piece of cloth in his lap, which he then took and tore into two smaller pieces. One he tied around his leg, pulling it just tight enough to help stop the bleeding, but not so tight that it cut off his circulation. He considered using the other strip as a sling for his arm, but then decided against it. Though his hand was out of commission for now, he could still use his arm, and if he ever wanted to leave the Jumper, he would need its full range of motion. Then, he remembered his eye, stuck shut with dried blood. Since the Jumpers were regrettably lacking in terms of running water, he used the only thing he had, and spit on the rag a few times to get it wet enough. A half-grin made it to his face as he recalled the way his mother would do much the same, only with a napkin instead. Holding his face still with one hand, she would scrub at whatever offending mark she had found on him. Finally, it would be gone, the only evidence of its former presence a slight pink mark where the scratchy napkin had rubbed against his skin, and she would smile at him, ruffling his hair as she stood up. He never liked anyone else touching his hair but her. She could ruffle it all day and he wouldn't mind.

Pushing the memories away, he stuffed the rag into his pocket, in case he should need it later. Looking around, he caught sight of the edge of his flannel shirt, which he packed in case it got cold wherever they went, and he carefully shook it out, then slipped his injured hand through the sleeve first. Once that was done, it was fairly easy for him to pull it on the rest of the way, though he only managed to button the bottom three buttons before his good hand became sore and tired. He decided it didn't matter if he did the rest or not; there was no one around to see his bare chest, anyway.

Sheppard stopped then to take stock of his situation. Every so often, sparks showered down on him from the rear section's control panel, its wires all frayed and uncomfortably close to touching one another. The smoke he had smelled earlier had now almost filled the Jumper, as well as his lungs, making him cough harshly. The Jumper was definitely damaged beyond repair, and from all Rodney's techno-babble, he knew that if those electrical wires happened to touch in just the wrong way, the whole Jumper could explode, even if there was no power.

"Any residual power stored in the buffers would be enough," Rodney had told him once, when they were in the middle of yet another "suicide mission". "All it takes is a spark, and...well..."

Sheppard had nodded then. He'd known exactly what McKay had meant. Looking up at the wires, he found himself nodding again. He had to get out of there; the sooner, the better.

Slowly, he pushed himself to his knees, carefully avoiding sticking his hand into the shattered glass, and then attempted to stand. His leg protested, however, and he fell back to his knees, panting from the exertion.

"Come on, John. Let's go," he ordered himself aloud, if only to break the silence around him. After three more failed tries, he gave up on standing, settling instead for dragging himself up and out of the Jumper. It was difficult for him to pull his body up through the rear hatch, which had no doubt blown off in the crash, but as soon as his head poked out of the opening, he relished in the cool, clean air that filled his lungs. He took a few deep breaths, then continued to struggle out of the upturned ship, using only his right arm and his left elbow. He paused to rest on the edge of the hatch, then dropped over the side, again growling in pain as his leg made hard contact with the ground. Now seated beside the Jumper, he could see the full extent of the damage the Wraith weapons had caused. The drive pod on this side looked completely burnt, the charred metal twisted outward in star-burst patterns of different sizes. He didn't need to see the other pod to know that it most likely looked just as bad.

Sheppard wondered if the Wraith had seen him heading for the planet, and he quickly scanned the area around him for any sign of movement. Next, he peered at the sky above, both watching and listening for the approach of any Darts. It was silent, at least for now, and he let himself lay back on the ground, the long grass tickling the back of his neck. Again, he found himself wishing that Teyla was there, as she could sense the Wraith long before they could be seen. Of course, she would also be chiding him for wrapping his wound so sloppily, and for not taking the time to disinfect it. He thought of her standing there, her tiny hands on her hips, a disapproving glare in her dark brown eyes, and he smiled despite the homesickness that came crowding back inside him. He would happily let her yell at him for hours, if only she were here with him right now.

As he looked up a second time, he realized that the sun was setting, which meant that he had very little time to get a fire going, and even less time to figure out some type of shelter for the night. He made himself stand, trying to ignore the searing pain in his leg, and quickly grabbed a few light-colored stones that he spied scattered around the ground. In case anyone – like Rodney, and hopefully not like the Wraith – came looking for him, he set them into an arrow shape, pointing toward a stand of trees, where he decided to camp for the night. Grabbing his tac vest and backpack, which he'd snagged on the way out of the Jumper, he set off toward the forest. It was already getting dark under the canopy of trees, so he walked less than a hundred yards in, found a good, level spot for his camp, and dropped his belongings there. Most of the downed branches he found there were dry, so he began collecting them. He had to make quite a few limping trips back and forth through the forest to get enough wood for the whole night, but when he was done, there was a fairly nice pile of branches set up in the shape of a tepee, and another larger pile sat a few yards away, waiting for their turn on the fire.

Sheppard eased himself to the ground and pulled a box of matches out of his tac vest. Under the wood "tepee" was a handful of dry pine needles, perfect for tinder, but just to be sure, Sheppard had shoved a few scraps of paper in between the sticks. He touched a match first to the needles, then the paper, and sighed in relief as they immediately caught, first smoking and then sparking. Before long, the fire had spread to the logs, the flames licking almost waist-high, and he set about getting his shelter ready.

There was a large boulder a few feet from the fire, roughly eight or nine feet high and just about as wide, and as it was just close enough for him to stay warm, but not near enough for any stray sparks to reach him, he decided that it could serve as a good windbreak. Sheppard pulled a bundle of rope out of his pack, then realized that he had nothing to string over him for a tent. There was a tarp packed in the Jumper, in the cargo net on the left bulkhead, but there was no way he was going back to get it. Setting the rope aside, he dug into the pack and found a thin blanket, one he had packed for a picnic with Teyla and her son, Torren, on the mainland a week ago. Figuring that it would have to do, he set it nearby and searched for his canteen, which was usually clipped to his vest. Not today, however. Sheppard remembered taking a swig from it shortly before the Wraith had attacked him. He'd set it down on the floor beside his seat, too busy with the readings on the HUD to put it back.

Groaning, Sheppard decided instead to check on his leg. He cautiously loosened the t-shirt bandage, and was glad to see that the bleeding had slowed greatly. There was no way to know if it was infected, but he couldn't do anything about it either way. In the morning, he would find the body of water he'd noticed earlier and try to clean the wound out as best as he could. Right now, though, all he wanted to do was sleep. Rubbing a hand through his perpetually-messy hair, Sheppard poked at the fire, stoking it up nice and hot, then scooted back until his back was almost touching the boulder. Using his pack as a pillow, he wrapped the picnic blanket around himself and closed his eyes.

He was asleep in moments.

TBC...